


Count On Me

by rightonthelimit



Series: Tom/Harry Drabble Collection [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rightonthelimit/pseuds/rightonthelimit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry had bought Tom’s dead mother flowers even though he barely made any money with his shitty job as a store clerk at the local supermarket. He was cold, as Tom was, but he didn’t complain. When Tom didn’t laugh at his jokes he simply kept saying random things in the hopes of being able to witness the faintest of smiles gracing Tom’s features.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Count On Me

**Author's Note:**

> Harry isn’t the only one who needs comfort every now and then, I think that’s what most people tend to forget when writing Tom/Harry :) This is in the same universe as Holding Hands, but it doesn’t have to be?

**A/N: Please do not repost, recreate or translate.**

**Count On Me**

It was cold and he couldn’t stop shivering. It was like he had never been warm in the first place - he was chilled to the bone.

His knees ached from where they had been kneeling on the ground for way too long and his shoulders were hunched over and achy as well. His body felt heavy and his eyes were stinging.

He didn’t move at all.

The scent of flowers on the grave in front of him invaded his nostrils. He didn’t care much for it.

How long had he been here? He didn’t know. Minutes, hours. Not days, maybe just one day but not  _multiple_ days. Was it grief tearing at his heart from the inner depths of his soul? Who knew. Maybe it was only pain. Tom didn’t think this emotion could bear a name. He didn’t think that mankind would be intelligent enough to be able to come up with a name fitting for this kind of feeling because it was so strange, so bittersweet.

He breathed slowly. In and out. His throat was dry and he was thirsty. Tom didn’t feel motivated to fetch himself something to drink.

Tom has been postponing this for weeks. Ignoring his own feelings. Distracting those who mentioned it. Now the feelings hit Tom, washing over him like a tidal wave, drowning out all rational thoughts. He had never lost anything before. The thought of losing someone he had truly loved was almost unrealistic yet it had happened all the same.

‘Thank God. You’re here, I’ve been looking for you all over town – you weren’t at school, you weren’t home and you weren’t picking up your phone-’ The voice trailed off and Tom felt no desire to acknowledge it. He kept staring in the knowledge that one day he’d lie here too. He wondered if anyone would grieve over him.

Tom glanced down when someone settled next to him. The person didn’t touch him but Tom knew who it was regardless and he closed his eyes when he felt the other caress the side of his face.

‘I was so worried.’ Why? Why would anyone worry over Tom? He was 16 now. He was healthy and strong and tall for his age. Nothing to worry about. Wish he could say the same about the person lying right underneath him, rotting in a casket. ‘Don’t say that. You could’ve… You’ve been so unstable lately and I was so scared that you did something that got you hurt… Or that you hurt someone else...’

Oh. He must’ve said it out loud.

‘Hey. Look at me.’

Tom did not. His eyes stubbornly remained trained on the grave. His eyes didn’t stray even when the person next to him gripped his chin and turned his head.

His gaze flicked to his boyfriend’s green eyes and then returned back to the gravestone again. Haunted. Mute. Those words seemed to describe Tom pretty well right now.

‘Tom, please?’

He wondered if she had suffered a lot. What her last thoughts had been. Had she thought of Tom?

‘Thomas.’

That got Tom’s attention alright, partially because of Harry's stern tone and the fact that he  _never_ called Tom Thomas, and partially because his mother used to call him Thomas. So did his father. Tom turned his head to look his boyfriend in the eye again. Harry caressed the side of Tom’s face with his knuckles.

‘Come on, let’s get you home.’

‘I don’t want to go,’ Tom argued. Harry frowned and then sighed, resting his forehead against Tom’s.

‘You’re freezing cold. I don’t want you to get sick…’

‘I won’t. I’m fine.’

‘You’re not – look. Let’s just… You can come home with me if you’d like. I could draw you a bath. Arabella won’t mind if you stay over.’

‘I don’t want you to do that for me. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.’ Tom looked at Harry with an angry expression on his handsome face until Harry wrapped his arms around Tom.  
  
‘It’s okay to be sad, Tom,’ Harry mumbled right next to his ear, his smaller hands stroking Tom's hair. Petting him and soothing him.

‘I’m not,’ Tom argued again. His voice was muffled by Harry’s neck and the expression slowly slid off his face, rendering him numb again. It seemed like that was all he was good for, lately. Growing angry and then becoming numb again.

‘I love you.’

Tom had no reply to that. He closed his eyes tightly and wrapped his arms around Harry, a burning sensation in his throat. Harry was warm. He smelt of soap and grass. He must’ve been out playing soccer again. When Harry pulled away again he briefly kissed Tom’s forehead and placed a bouquet of lilies on the grave in front of them. Tom hadn’t noticed Harry bringing them until now.

‘You were looking for  _me_. Why did you bring flowers for  _her_?’ Tom asked incredulously, suspiciously. Harry shrugged.

‘Wouldn’t have felt right to come here empty handed.’

Tom had come here empty handed. Maybe that’s why he didn’t feel well. Maybe he would’ve felt better if he would’ve brought his mother flowers too, it was a common thing to do after all.

Harry shrugged. ‘Mrs Figg - I mean Arabella,' Harry briefly frowned to himself because Tom knew that Harry had never been comfortable with calling her by her first name even though the elderly woman wanted him to, 'told me my mom used to like lilies.’

Tom didn’t even know what his own mother's favorite flowers had been. His father had never brought her any.

‘My dad didn’t care much for lilies but I’m sure he doesn’t mind when I put them on their grave because my mom’s name was Lily too. It could be symbolic, or whatever.’

Tom’s father didn’t like things that reminded him of Tom’s mom. He had her closet cleaned out the day after she died, all of her clothes were given to charity. The only thing Tom had left of her was her old necklace, which he had stolen from his father’s study. It now hung around his neck, heavy and cold.

‘I liked your mom. Sorry she died.’

‘I liked her too. It’s not your fault,’ Tom murmured bitterly. Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again, by now accustomed to Tom’s mood swings. Tom had been snapping at whoever dared to ask him questions. He had gone through the violent stage already. Punching holes into walls and yelling at his father. Hating him for already having replaced his mom with a woman far prettier and richer than she had been when it’s been only a week since Merope had died. It felt like Tom's father had waited for her to die.

They’d never had  been much of a family. His mom had been weak and submissive but she had loved Tom and Tom’s father especially dearly. Tom Riddle Senior had always been cold to her and Tom knew he had only married her because of a deal Tom’s grandparents had made.

‘No, I’m not a killer. I’m a lover, not a fighter.’ Harry nudged Tom in the side with a faint smile on his face. Tom didn’t laugh at his joke.

The prospect of seeing his father didn’t weigh well on Tom’s mind. He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to see that man’s face but then again he supposed that he would never be able to escape it. His own face resembled his father’s so much after all. He used to think he was quite fortunate for having taken after his father. Now all he felt was disdain.

Harry sneezed and sniffled.

‘You didn’t miss much at school. Snape went batshit because I forgot to hand in my homework again. Earned me detention for the upcoming three weeks.’

‘What time is it now?’

‘Five.’

‘But you just said you had detention.’

‘My boyfriend disappeared. I bailed out, duh.’ Harry rolled his eyes. The corner of Tom’s mouth kicked up but his smile died down before it had the chance to grow.

‘You’re always getting yourself into so much trouble.’

Harry seemed to relax at the sound of Tom’s voice. Tom vaguely realized that Harry was probably the only person left who cared for him now that his mother had died. The thought that something would happen to Harry was terrifying.

‘I don’t get into trouble, trouble finds me.’ The tone in Harry’s voice was almost proud and definitely playful. Tom wondered what it was like to lose both parents when you loved them dearly. He couldn’t recall ever having loved his own father, in fact, he couldn’t recall ever having loved anyone but his mother and Harry. Tom never had a lot of love to give.

Harry shivered and Tom glanced at him.

‘You’re cold.’ It wasn’t a question, it was an observation. Harry shrugged again. ‘You can leave if you want to.’

‘I’m fine. I’m not going anywhere.’ Harry gave Tom a pointed look that he couldn’t quite decipher. There was too much on Tom’s mind. His brilliant brain wasn’t working properly and it was foreign because he had always been able to rely on his charms and intelligence. He couldn’t come up with a way to stop from feeling this way right now.

Being around Harry didn’t ease the pain, it made Tom more capable of accepting it for what it was he supposed. He knew in this moment that the pain of losing someone he loved dearly would never fade, he would simply learn how to live with it and time would ease the sting just a bit. The thought of ever having to stand over Harry’s grave like this was something Tom could not fathom. They were young, the both of them, and undoubtedly stupid. But Tom thought that what they had was genuine and that if he had not met Harry at the right moment he would’ve been someone entirely else.

Harry was sitting right next to him, staring at his mother’s grave. Harry had bought Tom’s dead mother flowers even though he barely made any money with his shitty job as a store clerk at the local supermarket. He was cold, as Tom was, but he didn’t complain. When Tom didn’t laugh at his jokes he simply kept saying random things in the hopes of being able to witness the faintest of smiles gracing Tom’s features.

Tom didn’t ask Harry to come here, Harry came here looking for him. In fact, Tom had never asked  _anything_ of Harry because he didn’t expect that Harry had anything he could give him.

He had never thought that, since Harry was all over the place and was rude and messy and  _annoying_ and loud, Harry’s presence could be so soothing.  
  
Now, all he knew was that Harry was here and that Tom secretly needed him to.

‘I think I want to go to your house, if that’s okay.’

Harry looked at him in mild surprise before he smiled. He nodded.

‘Yeah, of course. You’re always welcome at my house, Tom. Mrs Figgs really likes you. You know that.’ She did but then again, everyone liked Tom. Tom hadn’t encountered anyone before who didn’t like him. Maybe with all the angry fits he had been in lately he had changed that though.

 Harry got up and patted the dust off his body. He froze when Tom wrapped his arms around his waist and pressed his face into Harry’s flat stomach, closing his eyes tightly. One of his hands splayed between Harry’s shoulderblades and the other on the small of Harry’s back and he felt this sudden desperate need to just  _hold_ Harry, ensure that he wasn’t going anywhere, that Tom wasn’t going to be alone.

Harry’s fingers threaded through his hair and Tom sighed. His eyes were stinging. He didn’t know why.

‘Hey,’ Harry murmured, not at all bothered. Tom closed his eyes tightly and breathed in his smell. Harry's clothes smelt nice. Clean. ‘C’mon, let’s go.’

Tom nodded. He reluctantly let go and got up, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his eyes. Harry didn’t say anything of it and he allowed Tom to wrap an arm around him. No, Tom wouldn’t know what to do without Harry at all.


End file.
